


the kiss of death

by Anonymous



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Scissoring, Smut, Teasing, They are both trans men, Trans Ares (Hades Video Game), Trans Male Character, Trans Thanatos (Hades Video Game), genitals are referred to as dick cock etc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:08:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28704939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: A statue of this must exist, Ares thinks.
Relationships: Ares/Thanatos (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 69
Collections: Anonymous





	the kiss of death

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: though i headcanon both ares and than as trans men, i am cis, not transmasc. if any part of this fic appears transmisandric in the least, please let me know so i may change it! 
> 
> genitals are referred to as "cock" "dick" etc.

Mortal as they are, humans are good at what they do. Ares, having borne witness to them for eons, can testify to the existence of most magnificent of poets, second only to Apollo; the most beautiful of creatures, bested only by Aphrodite. It is because of this that he considers himself very fortunate. Some of the greatest feats of humankind take place on the battlefield, and the weight of the privilege he bears in presiding over such affairs is not lost on him.

They fear death, he knows this much. He knows this because he is war incarnate. Kingdoms are built on this, battles thrive off of this. He subsists off of this specific human tendency. 

Thanatos is, similarly, extremely good at what he does.

He imagines the frustration a human must have. An artist, a sculptor, hard at work, as humans usually are. This one is particularly dedicated to give death a face. In what shape does death manifest?

Surely not like this.

* * *

Ares is shocked at how long he manages to keep his hands out of Death’s hair. 

He does not doubt that Thanatos will skewer him with that pretty scythe of his if he tries anything funny, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t want to stuff that gentle mouth of his with his cock, make him choke on it. 

Thanatos must sense he’s thinking too much. He pulls away from Ares’ dick, his face covered in a light sheen, a mixture of sweat, saliva, and Ares. 

“Don’t say anything,” Thanatos warns on an exhale. “Unless you want to stop.” 

Ares thinks briefly that he couldn’t want anything less and bites back the words on the tip of his tongue.

The man at his knees stands to his full height. It makes for a particularly imposing sight, as one would think, having Death himself look upon his naked body with clinical studiousness. Ares thinks briefly this must be what Artemis’ prey sees in their final moments. Loomed over by death.

He does not stay idle for long. Thanatos is on him suddenly, _in_ him, his mouth, and Ares can taste himself on the other god’s tongue. He doesn’t exactly appreciate the gesture and grimaces at the taste; he only considers making a show of spitting it out, but Thanatos’ mouth is still on his when a firm hand hoists his limp thigh in the air and over Thanatos’ shoulder. 

Ares slips onto his back without grace. Thanatos straddles the one leg and holds the other up with his body, pressing war open, eyes boring into his damp skin. 

Ares feels terribly exposed, the air against his cunt making realize how horribly _wet_ he is. 

“Do it already,” He says before he can think to do better. “I need it.”

“I thought I said not to speak.”

Ares feels like strangling him, but wants his cock more. He purses his lips to keep quiet. Than seems to find humor in this, and, taking mercy, grants Ares’ greedy wish.

He has to bite back a scream when he feels Thanatos press his cock against his. Thanatos must not think gibberish moans qualify as talking because he doesn’t comment on Ares’ plethoras of _holy_ and _please_ and _Than,_ and instead focuses on grinding himself against the war god’s beautiful cock because it’s easier than _shut up._ Back, forth, using their collective wetness to ease the movements. It’s enough to make both gods feel dizzy with pleasure.

Skin slick, Ares considers diving his hands between them and urging them both to the edge. He, however, has patience in him yet, and lets Thanatos have his way with him a while longer, riding the sensation for all it is. In the haze of stimulation, part of him stops to appreciate how nicely the god’s white hair frames his face, curtaining over his sharp features in a haunted way that only Death incarnate could ever execute. He is reminded of why he finds this god so beautiful.

Ares decides he wants death’s mouth on his again. It indulges him.

There is a deafening sound in his ears that Ares realizes is his own heartbeat. Before long, he cannot think of anything beyond how painfully hard he is, how hard he wants to grind up into Thanatos’ movements, how good the heat against his cock feels, just inches away from his cunt—

“Please,” is muffled only once into Thanatos’ mouth before he does them both a favor, taking Ares’ length between deft fingers, rubbing him with the pads of his fingers. Oh, how war _howls,_ and Thanatos smiles when he pulls away from the kiss to find tears of desperation leaking from Ares’ eyes. The string in his gut grows taut; he will not last much longer like this.

Ares thinks that the need to orgasm is a phenomenal pain. He wants Thanatos to pinch him, suck him, do _anything_ beyond the frankly gentle rubs of his fingers. If he’d meant to stimulate him further, he could at least do it properly, Ares thinks. He settles for a demonstration.

Surprise and pleasure bloom on Thanatos’ features, hidden to all except Ares who, on his back, has a perfect view of the god hunched over him, cock throbbing against his when war-bruised fingers grasp at him. Ares takes the whole thing between his fingers, and Thanatos tastes blood as he bites at his cheek, trying to muffle the noise of pleasure that threatens to spill from him.

“Speak,” Ares whispers, and Thanatos would bark back at him for breaking their little pact if not for the bliss clouding his better judgement and Ares’ fingers tightening around his cock.

“It’s perfect, Ares,” Death whines. “You feel so good, I can’t, it’s—oh, your fingers feel so _good,_ Ares, I’m nearly there…” 

“Likewise,” Comes the husky murmur. 

Where others would rush, push themselves over the finish, Ares exercises the last of his patience and does not change the intensity of his motions, letting Thanatos rut and rub and press into him in all the right ways. Cocks touching, hands brushing, mouths seeking one another out—there is no better way to end their tryst than this, Ares thinks, settling into an orgasm that feels like it rocks the foundation of his very being. Thanatos follows with a growl, the pressure of his dick against Ares’ too much to bear, and lets the rope within him snap.

In the wake of everything, it is quiet. How Thanatos is still sitting upright is lost on Ares who lays boneless on his back. His entire body aches from the strain of systematically clenching and unclenching, and he wasn’t even the one doing most of the work—Thanatos must be more built than any of the Olympians give him credit for. 

Said god finally collapses, whining at the release of pressure from his genitals, sore and overstimulated. The exhaustion will hit him yet, Ares thinks.

“Tell me you don’t do that for just anyone,” Ares asks, brushing white hair out of Thanatos’ face to meet his tired gaze.

“Nobody,” Thanatos admits, and Ares smiles, letting himself be kissed again by death.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!


End file.
